


The Kings and the Consequences

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [19]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:19:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a previous episode (The Kings and the Forges), Thorin spends the night with Dwalin.  The two have carefully kept this a secret from Thranduil ever since.  But, in the end, there are bound to be consequences and, in this story, the chickens come home to roost.  In a moment of folly, Thorin throws his secret in Thranduil's face and Thranduil goes berserk.  Can their relationship be patched up or is that it?</p><p>A new story for the New Year!  Hope you enjoy it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Consequences

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Consequences

 

Pt I

 

Not a Morning Person

 

Thorin was not a morning person.  That might sound surprising for one who was a warrior.  And, indeed, he had been trained to leap to his feet wide awake if ever danger even vaguely threatened.  But, when his sixth sense told him that he was safe within his dwarven kingdom, wrapped in the arms of his lover, then he liked to sleep.  It was his favourite occupation – almost.  And, if Thranduil tried to tease him awake in the early hours then not even the thought of a passionate session with the elven king could sometimes be tempting enough to make him abandon his slumbers.  In fact, if Thranduil persisted then he would often get very crotchety and he would shoulder him away with a grumpy and muttered expletive.

 

Unfortunately, Thranduil _was_ a morning person.  When visiting Erebor, he always insisted that the door of Thorin’s windowless bed chamber be left wide open so that he could see the sun rise through the windows of the adjacent room.  Then the daylight would stream through the door and into the bedroom and the elf was immediately awake and alert…..and very aware of Thorin’s body sprawled next to his own.  He would raise himself on his elbow and admire the view for a while until he felt so aroused that the need to touch that muscular body overwhelmed him.  Why did he find such dwarven beauty so alluring?  He didn’t know; but he had been excited by Thorin from the first moment that he had seen him. And, since then, nothing and no-one else would do.   He dreaded the day when mortality would finally lay its hand upon his dwarven king and he would be left alone, incapable of loving anyone else; and he pushed the thought away.

 

In the meantime, he needed the warmth and comfort of that living body.  He ran his long, slender fingers down the beautifully muscled arm, then across the smooth hip and over the rounded buttock and then back up between those strong thighs until he was cupping Thorin’s genitals.  But Thorin slept on.  The elf tried squeezing gently and then felt pleased as he elicited some response.  The dwarf’s cock hardened and he pressed his own fully erect member against Thorin’s behind.  Thranduil ached for him to wake up – he always did – but he knew how bad-tempered the dwarf could be first thing in the morning and so he proceeded with caution.

 

His hand gave the stiffening cock an encouraging massage and then slid over the firm belly up to the silken hairs of the broad chest until his fingers found a nipple.  This he began to caress and tweak – he knew that Thorin liked that – and the nipple responded by hardening into a tight little nub.  Thorin let out a groan and Thranduil grinned to himself, pressing a kiss upon the powerful shoulder.  But Thorin suddenly bunched his muscles and shrugged him off.  “Why do you always do that?” he growled.  “You know how tired I am.”  And he moved to the far side of the bed and curled up into a ball.

 

Thranduil threw himself back onto his pillow angrily.  “But I’m wide awake and frustrated,” he snapped.  “And I really want you.”  In fact, this rejection of his advances just as he thought he was attaining his goal had only made his own cock more stiff and swollen and it twitched and throbbed as it lay against his belly.

 

“Then satisfy yourself,” was the bad-tempered response, before the snoring began again.

 

 _All right, I will_ , thought Thranduil.  And he deliberately began such a violent pumping action that his elbow kept prodding Thorin in the spine.

 

Thorin rolled over and grabbed the elf by the wrist.  “What’s wrong with you?” he growled.  “You can be so selfish in the morning.”

 

“Me?  Selfish?”  asked Thranduil in amazed tones.  “I don’t ask for much – only a bit of affection – and all I get is rejection.”

 

“Rejection?” Thorin snarled, sitting up in bed and glaring down at the elven king.  “Is that what you call it?  And when I think of the number of times that I’ve let you fuck me early in the morning when I’ve been really exhausted.  My first thoughts are always for you.”

 

“So, you’re telling me that you didn’t enjoy it?  That it was all for me?” sniped Thranduil, glaring back up at him.

 

“Of course I didn’t enjoy it,” replied Thorin cruelly, “not when I was so tired.  But, I’m good at pretending when I know it will please you.”

 

Thranduil lay on the pillow with his mouth open.  “I don’t believe you,” he finally said.

 

“I don’t care if you believe me or not,” was the retort, as the dwarf lay down once more and pulled the coverlet up to his chin.  “You know I’m not a morning person and yet you will persist with your demands.”

 

Thranduil lay there for a moment trying to think of something nasty to say.  And then he flung back the covers and climbed out of bed.  “Well, I think it might be best if I found myself another dwarven lover who _was_ a morning person,” he sneered.  “I can always keep you in reserve for high days and holidays.”

 

“You do that,” muttered Thorin.  And he closed his eyes firmly and buried his head in his pillow.

 

Thranduil got dressed and slammed out of the room.

 

Thorin wondered how long it would be before he returned with an apology on his lips.  Then he went back to sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

The Mysterious Other

 

Undisturbed, Thorin slept until the mid-morning.  And, when he finally opened his eyes, Thranduil had still not returned.   He bathed and got dressed, grinning to himself at the obduracy of his lover.  It was an empty threat, of course.  Thranduil was not attracted to dwarves – only to him, for some reason.  He didn’t doubt that the elven king was hiding somewhere like the library, just to teach him a lesson.  He would look for him after he had had a late breakfast.

 

Down in the dining hall, he found Balin who was also having a late breakfast.  “I was up half the night studying those maps and plans of Moria,” he explained.

 

Thorin nodded encouragingly at his old friend.  The longer he took studying all those old maps, the longer it would take him to set off on his adventure, which was fine by his king.  He asked if he had seen the elf lord around but he hadn’t.  So Thorin had a leisurely breakfast and then went for a look in the library.  Nope.  He wasn’t there either.

 

Back in his apartment, Thorin began to feel annoyed.  He understood that Thranduil wanted to punish him – and he had been a bit mean – but it was time for his punishment to end.

 

The afternoon dragged on and so did the evening with no sign of him.  And for the nth time, Thorin wondered where he was.  He slept – badly – that night and, when he got up the next morning, he felt tired and angry.  When Thranduil turned up, he was willing to apologise too – or at least meet him halfway.  But, at the moment, his lover was being very silly.  He checked out the stables, just in case the elf had snuck off home.  But, no, his horse was still there.

 

And later, sipping a glass of wine and tapping an impatient boot in irritation, Thorin’s thoughts kept drifting towards the unbelievable: that Thranduil really _had_ found himself another lover.  But, in truth, that was an almost impossible thought.

 

He spent the rest of the day wandering the corridors and trying to guess where Thranduil was hiding.  He wanted to question people as to his lover’s whereabouts but they would think their king pathetic if they saw him anxiously running after the elf lord and so he kept his concerns to himself.  And, that night, he went to bed on his own once more.

 

Thorin tossed and turned until the sun came up and, then, an hour later, Thranduil finally returned.  He entered the outer room, disrobed and got into the bathing pool.  Thorin wanted to yell: “And where do you think you’ve been?”  But, instead, he bit his tongue, and joined the elf in the bathing pool, sitting down quietly opposite him.

 

Thranduil raised a white hand languidly to his lips and yawned delicately.  Then he stretched back and, resting his head on the marble ledge, closed his eyes.  Thorin wanted to kick him, but he merely asked: “Tired?”

 

Thranduil smirked in a very annoying way and murmured, “Yes.”

 

Thorin sat for a very long time, resisting the urge to say more but his self-control broke in the end.  “It must have been a very lively night with your new dwarven lover,” he said sarcastically.

 

Thranduil’s smirk widened.  “Yes,” he said.

 

With a jolt, Thorin suddenly realised that he half believed him.

 

“And……do I know this mystery lover?” he asked casually.

 

“Yes,” said the elven king, opening his eyes and staring deep into Thorin’s blue ones.

 

“Older or younger than me?” asked the dwarf.

 

“About the same, I suppose,” was the considered response.

 

“Black or blond haired?”

 

“Black,” grinned Thranduil, wondering how long it would be before Thorin finally got the joke and realised he was teasing.

 

But, Thorin didn’t get the joke and angrily asked the crucial question: “Is he better in bed than me?”

 

“Oh, about the same, I should say,” mused the elf, his head tipped consideringly on one side.

 

“Except in the morning, I suppose,” growled Thorin.  And he leapt from the pool and pulled on his clothes.  He was feeling devastated and angry.  Who was this dwarf?  He really couldn’t place him; but so many new dwarves from all the dwarven kingdoms passed through Erebor these days and he couldn’t remember them all.  He was deeply hurt and wanted to hurt Thranduil in return.  And it was at this moment that the chickens finally came home to roost.

 

“Of course,” was his Parthian shot as he walked from the pool, “you’re not the only one to have a secret lover.”

 

The minute he said it, Thorin was appalled at himself.  Somehow, it had just slipped out.  His one-night stand with Dwalin was something that he had sworn he would never tell Thranduil about.  And yet, it had just been thrown as a poisonous barb, meant to wound and hurt.

 

Thranduil was out of the pool so fast that Thorin wasn’t ready for him.  The elven king had his hand at his throat and thrust him up against the door.  “Who is he?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.  “Tell me his name and I’ll kill him.”   Thorin gave a horrified gasp and then, flinging the elf lord from him, he grabbed open the door and disappeared off down the corridor, leaving a naked and dripping wet Thranduil behind him in the room.

 

The elf leaned back against the door then slid slowly to the floor and buried his head in his hands.  He had been ‘hiding’ in Brangwyn’s old apartment and, having decided that he had been gone long enough to teach Thorin a lesson, he had returned to do a bit of gentle teasing with his lover which he had hoped would lead to a delightful reconciliation.

 

But, his teasing had been taken seriously and an upset Thorin had thrown a real secret lover in his face.  Who was it?  It had to be Dwalin.  And with a grim, set look, Thranduil got dressed and went to find the treacherous dwarf.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Blackened Eyes and Ribs

 

As he strode towards Dwalin’s apartment, Thranduil wondered if that’s where Thorin had run off to when he had left the room.   If he found them both together, then he felt he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.  And a white-hot anger began to burn in his normally icy breast.  To be deceived like this – by both of them - was beyond bearing.  How long had their intimacy been going on for?  They had had plenty of time during those weeks in which he and Thorin were apart when they could have betrayed him repeatedly.  Or were they at it even when he was visiting Erebor?  Perhaps trying to keep two lovers satisfied at the same time was why Thorin was always so tired in the morning.  The thought made Thranduil feel quite sick.

 

He hammered upon Dwalin’s door, tested it to see if it was unlocked and, when it wasn’t, he threw the door open and marched into the room.  Dwalin stood alone with a surprised expression on his face which changed to one of concern when the elven king pushed open his bedroom door and scanned the room beyond quickly.  “He’s not here, then,” snarled Thranduil.  They both knew who ‘he’ was.

 

“Wh-what do you mean,” stuttered the big dwarf, beginning to go a bit pink about the ears.

 

Guilty as sin, thought the king.  He bared his teeth and went on the attack.   “I mean,” he hissed, “that Thorin told me all about your affair with him  and then he ran off.  I thought he might be sheltering from me with his lover.”

 

Dwalin looked appalled, turned a bright red and took a step back, raising a defensive hand.  “It didn’t mean anything,” he croaked.  “Thorin loves you, not me.”

 

 

Thranduil drew back his fist and hit the mighty dwarf as hard as he could.  Dwalin stumbled backwards across the room and then collapsed on the floor.  Then, Thranduil marched out of the apartment in search of Thorin.

 

.o00o.

 

Thorin wasn’t skulking but had gone down to the dining-hall where he was on full view.   Surely Thranduil wouldn’t create a scene in such a crowded place?  Perhaps when he found him in company, he would go back to their rooms, there to calm down a bit whilst he waited for Thorin’s return.  And Thorin needed time to think of the right words to explain what had happened between him and Dwalin.  It never occurred to him that the elf might go in search of Dwalin first.

 

He positioned himself between Balin and Brangwyn and tried to enter into normal conversation with them, but the two kept giving him odd looks.

 

In the end, Brangwyn asked him what was wrong.  “Wrong?” was his response.  “Why should there be anything wrong?  Nothing’s wrong.”

 

At that moment, Thranduil came storming into the hall.

 

“Ah,” said Brangwyn.

 

As he strode down the room towards Thorin’s dais, Thranduil’s eyes focused only on his lover.  He looked neither to right nor left and was totally unaware of anyone else in the room.  If Thorin had thought himself safe, surrounded as he was by others, then he was mistaken.  A murderous black rage enveloped the elven king and he was going nowhere until he had taken his revenge.  He leaned across the table until his face was nearly touching Thorin’s and then he spat: “I have spoken with Dwalin and he has confessed!”  Thorin shrank away from the hatred in his eyes.

 

“If you go back to our rooms,” he said as quietly and as soothingly as possible, “then I shall come and explain.”

 

“And what do you intend to explain?” snarled the elf.  “All the filthy details?”  Then his hand shot out and, seizing Thorin by the collar, he yanked him across the table with a surprising show of strength and sent him flying across the room with a back-handed blow to the face.  All Thorin’s companions rose from their seats in shock and stood there, stunned, for a moment – which gave Thranduil time to step towards the prone form of the dwarf and to administer several violent kicks to his ribs with a booted foot.

 

Suddenly, Brangwyn was there, standing in front of Thorin and protecting his body.   “That’s enough, Thranduil,” she said in a quietly commanding voice and the elven king shook his head dazedly as if he were coming out of a trance.

 

“Thorin?” he said, making a movement towards the dwarf who lay motionless and bleeding on the floor.  But, hands were now seizing him and restraining him.

 

“I think you should leave,” said Balin.  And his captors escorted him from the hall and down to the stables.

 

Balin organised a group to carry the king to his bed, whilst a concerned Brangwyn and Oin, carrying his medical bag, followed after him.  Meanwhile, Balin hurried off to find his brother.

 

Dwalin was nursing a bruised face and gave Balin a rueful look when he entered the room.  “Thorin must have let something slip,” he muttered.

 

“He certainly did,” replied the old dwarf.  “And Thranduil nearly killed him in the dining hall just now.”  Dwalin rose to his feet angrily but Balin patted him on the arm.  “It’s all right, brother,” he sighed.  “Thranduil has left for Mirkwood.  But, I fear the damage has been done.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

A Compromise of Sorts  

 

Brangwyn sat by Thorin’s bed, holding his hand.  She had cleaned up his face which was black with emerging bruises and cut by the rings on Thranduil’s hand.  She was shocked by the look of despair which haunted his eyes and she didn’t know what to say to him.  And so, she just sat there, holding his hand.

 

Oin was examining the dwarf king’s ribs.  He was badly bruised all the way down one side and Oin sighed.  “I think you may have some cracked ribs there,” he said.  “Shall I bind them?”

 

Thorin shook his head wearily.  “Well,” continued Oin, “if they begin to ache too much, you’ll just have to reconsider.”  He packed away his bag and, with a sad shake of his head, left the room.   Balin and Dwalin were both standing in a corner, Dwalin looking fierce and Balin with a wry grimace twisting his lips.  Brangwyn looked from one to the other: “Am I the only one in this room who knew nothing about this?” she asked indignantly.

 

Dwalin shifted uncomfortably.  “My brother guessed,” he said.

 

Brangwyn stared wide-eyed from Dwalin to Thorin.  “I can hardly believe this,” she said.  “How long have you two been carrying on?”

 

“We have not been ‘carrying on’,” snapped  Thorin.    “Thranduil left me.  I thought it was all over.  Then Dwalin and I spent one night together because I felt so wretched.  We never touched each other before and we haven’t touched each other since.”

 

Brangwyn looked perceptively at Dwalin.  “But you love Thorin, don’t you?”

 

The big dwarf flushed.  “Well, maybe I do but, because I love him, I want what’s best for him.  And, what’s best for him, is Thranduil.  I would never interfere in their relationship now that they’re together again.”

 

Thorin sat there looking guilty and playing with his sheet.  He had taken advantage of Dwalin, his dearest friend, when he had been at a low point but could offer him nothing in return.

 

Brangwyn looked bemused.  “That one night together seems so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.  The way Thranduil was going on, I thought you two must have been rutting like stags.  How on earth did he find out?”

 

“I told him,” muttered Thorin.  “He said he had found another dwarven lover and I believed him.  I wanted to hurt him and it just slipped out.”

 

“So, he knows it was only a one-night stand which happened after he had left you?” asked Brangwyn.

 

“No,” said Thorin.  “He never gave me a chance to explain.”

 

“Then you must explain,” she insisted.  “You must go after him.”

 

“I know,” he said.  “I’m going tomorrow – for all the good it’s likely to do me.”

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil sat in his beautiful palace in Mirkwood, surrounded by beautiful things, and all he could think was that none of his possessions were as beautiful as Thorin Oakenshield.  He had been separated from that cruel deceiver for only one day and already he missed him desperately.  The thought that he might never see him again, never touch him or kiss him again was too hard to bear.

 

All the way back on that long and lonely ride from Erebor, all through that equally long and lonely night and now through this most desolate day, he had repeatedly run through his mind all those occasions on which he had jealously thought that Thorin had betrayed him – only to be proven wrong.  People had told lies about him for their own ends or he had misunderstood the evidence of his own eyes or he hadn’t known the full story which eventually had totally exonerated the dwarf.  He had lost count of the number of times that he had been obliged to ask Thorin for his forgiveness.  But, this time it was different.  This time, both Thorin and Dwalin had confessed their guilt.  There were absolutely no misunderstandings to muddy the waters.

 

And so, he must learn to live without him.  And Thranduil wondered if this were possible.  As he pondered obsessively on these things, a guard entered the room and announced that Thorin Oakenshield was at the gate demanding an audience.  The elven king’s heart gave a leap of joy which he immediately suppressed.  For his own sanity, he must turn him away.  And yet, he couldn’t.  He would torture himself by looking on Thorin’s face one last time so that he could hide that image away in his heart, then bring it out and look at it once his infatuation with the dwarf was finally under control.  And so, he ordered the king to be brought before him.

 

When he entered the room, head held proudly and with no sign of shame, Thranduil felt a momentary shock at the terrible bruising on his face.  The elf had been so bound up in his anger that he had almost forgotten how he had hit Thorin across the room.  But the sight of the damage he had done to this once-beloved face caused him a flash of pain and anguish which he chose to ignore.  This was Thorin’s punishment and he deserved it.  He would get no regret or compassion from the one who had marked him.  And so he tore his eyes away from the bruising and looked him in his blue eyes instead. 

 

Thranduil stared coldly down at Thorin from his aloof position on his throne.  Thorin stared steadily back at him.  “I’ve come to explain,” said the dwarven king.

 

“And I,” answered the elf haughtily, “have no desire to listen to your explanations nor to your excuses.”

 

There was a pause.  “So,” Thorin finally said, “do you suggest that I return to Erebor?”  His cobalt eyes shone darkly. 

 

And Thranduil found that he could not give an answer.  If he answered ‘yes’, then he would never see Thorin again.  And, if he answered ‘no’, there was an implied forgiveness: and he would never forgive him.  He struggled so long with his thoughts that, suddenly, Thorin turned on his heel and began to march from the room.

 

Thranduil looked at the long black curls tumbling down the dwarf’s back and at his strong, muscular shoulders and his powerful thighs.  “Stop!” he commanded.  “I would suggest a compromise!”  And Thorin stopped in his tracks and then slowly turned.

 

The elven king lounged elegantly back on his throne, crossing his long booted legs.  “I no longer love you,” he said, and his voice was cool and distant.  “But, lust remains.  I feel that I cannot resist the lure of taking you to my bed.”  Thorin’s face was still and he showed no emotion.

 

“We are still married,” he said, “and, rather than break all aspects of that union, I suggest that we continue with the sexual one.  But,” he added, his face taut, “there will be no love, no affection.  Just the act.”

 

Thorin stood there, his thoughts racing.  Sex had often been the answer to many of their problems and, perhaps, when he and Thranduil were in bed together, the elf would listen to him.  It was his only chance.  And so he nodded.

 

Thranduil smirked.  It was actually a grimace of relief but, to Thorin, it looked like an expression of triumph.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt V

 

The Answer to Everything?

 

Thranduil led Thorin to his bedroom.  It was a very beautiful place where the two had spent many joyful and tender hours together.  But, tonight it was different.  “Take off your clothes and get into my bed,” said the elf tonelessly.  Thorin cast his fur-trimmed cloak to one side, pulled off his boots and then began to unbutton his shirt.  This was not the pleasurable experience it usually was and Thranduil’s cold stare made him feel uncomfortable.

 

As he pulled his shirt over his head, he heard a slight gasp escape from the elven king’s lips and after flinging his clothes into a corner Thorin saw the wide-eyed flicker of his eyes as they rested on his viciously bruised ribs.  Thranduil had the overwhelming urge to reach out and gently touch Thorin’s side and he almost exclaimed: “Did I do that?”  But, he restrained himself and let the blank stare settle once more over his features.

 

Thorin removed the rest of his clothes and then stood naked for a moment, meeting Thranduil’s gaze before climbing beneath the sheets.  The elven king considered how the dwarf’s body, even damaged and bruised as it was, aroused him just as much as ever: he would never be able to rid himself of him.  And he stripped off quickly and climbed into bed with the one for whom he seemed to have an irresistible attraction.

 

He pulled the dwarf to him and groaned.  He hadn’t touched him in days and he felt so wonderful, pressed skin to skin.  Thorin reached up and stroked the platinum hair tentatively.  “Thranduil…..” he said.

 

“Hush!” hissed the elf.  “Not a word!”  And his hand snaked around Thorin’s neck to pull him into a kiss – not his usual one of passionate and loving desire, but one that was cold and demanding and painful as he pressed against the dwarf’s bruised jaw.

 

The elven king’s member was so swollen that he could wait no longer and, rolling on top of Thorin, he pulled his thigh high over his hip and pushed his way into him.  The thought of Dwalin doing such things only increased his cold brutality.  Thorin’s damaged ribs grated painfully together and he let out a grunt of pain but the elf ignored him and began thrusting ever more deeply into him.  It didn’t take long and when he had finished, he rolled away and went to sleep.

 

Thorin lay there, thinking.  And then he pulled himself slowly from the bed, got dressed and limped down to the stables.  The ride home was a slow and uncomfortable one as he clutched his aching ribs and considered what he should do.  He had thought that he was prepared to hang on to the elf at all costs, until such time as he would listen to him.  But the price was too high.  He had lost him and he must accept that.    Experiencing lust without love was something he couldn’t face again and he must rebuild his life in Erebor alone and without the one for whom he felt so deeply.

 

.o00o.

 

“No luck, laddie?” asked Balin, poking his head around Thorin’s door.

 

“None at all,” sighed the king.  “He refuses to listen to a single word I have to say.  It’s over.  I must accept this and start my life again without him.”

 

“With Dwalin?” asked Balin, ever the optimist.

 

“No,” smiled Thorin gently.  “With no-one.  When I first came back to Erebor, I had no-one in my life.  It must be possible to live so again.”

 

“Well, it’s my opinion he’ll come after you and you must be ready for him when he does.  You must decide what you want,” said the old counsellor gently.

 

“I want never to be hurt again,” was the grim response.

 

.o00o.

 

And, yes; Thranduil did come after him.  When the elf lord had awoken to find Thorin gone from his bed and from Mirkwood, he was furious.  They had reached an agreement, hadn’t they?  Thorin had submitted to him sexually.  And he paced his apartment in thwarted anger.  Thorin was his.  But he wondered if, after that awful night together, the dwarf had gone back to Dwalin.  He, personally, had enjoyed an intense orgasm but it had also been an empty one.  And, he had made no attempt to satisfy Thorin nor had the dwarf been satisfied.  Moreover, Thranduil knew he had hurt him.  This had given him a fleeting satisfaction: his pain was deserved.  But, perhaps it wasn’t quite the best way to keep him.  In the end, he decided to set out for Erebor and demand that Thorin keep his vows and return to the marital bed.

 

But, the confrontation in Erebor put Thranduil on the back foot.  This time, it was Thorin who received him, gazing calmly down upon him from his high throne.   The elven king paced the marble floor in a fury – the ride from Mirkwood had not improved his temper.

 

“I demand that you honour your vows and return to the marital bed!” he shouted.

 

“And if I refuse?” asked Thorin.

 

“Then I shall seek the support of both elven and dwarven authorities on the matter.  And, as you can guess, they are likely to side with the wronged husband.  They will remove Dwalin from your bed, send him into exile and order you to return to me!”

 

“Impossible,” said Thorin.

 

Thranduil stopped in his tracks.  He mounted the steps of the dais and glared at the dwarven king.  “So, you would defy your own laws?   You would refuse to bring your affair with this – this - dwarf to an end?”

 

“There is no affair to bring to an end,” said Thorin.

 

“Liar!” blustered Thranduil.  “You both confessed it to my face!”

 

“Then believe what you wish,” said Thorin with a nonchalant shrug, leaning back on his throne.

 

“Explain yourself to me!” snarled Thranduil.

 

“I thought,” said Thorin with a raised eyebrow, “that you wanted no explanations from me.”

 

The elven king glared in frustration for a moment longer and then flounced down the steps and out of the room.  Well, if he couldn’t get the information he wanted from Thorin, then he would get it from Dwalin. 

 

The dwarven king watched his exit with a slow smile appearing on his face.

 

.o00o.

 

Dwalin opened the door to his apartment at the knocking – and nearly shut it quickly again.  But Thranduil had his boot wedged in over the threshold and barged his way into the room.  “He’s not here,” the dwarf said.

 

“I know he’s not,” snapped the elf.  “I’ve come to talk with you.”

 

“You have?” was the anxious response.

 

“Yes,” snarled the elf lord, seizing him by the collar.   “I want you to tell me all about this affair – like, how long it went on for.”

 

Dwalin cleared his throat nervously.  He didn’t want to say anything that would make things worse for Thorin.  “Well – er – it wasn’t what I would call an affair.”

 

“What would you call it then?” growled the king.  “A regular fuck?”

 

The normally mild-mannered Dwalin was beginning to get angry now: “Nothing regular about it – unfortunately for me.  It lasted only a single night.”  And he wrenched himself away.

 

Thranduil blinked.  “One night?!”  But then he made a recovery.  “It doesn’t matter how many nights it was – sex with you was still a betrayal of our entire relationship!”

 

They were both shouting now.  “What?  Even after you had walked out on him and had left him in pieces?!  Who betrayed whom, I’d like to know?”

 

They stood glaring at each other and panting.  Thranduil stared wide-eyed at Dwalin’s words.  Finally, he straightened up.  “When was this?” he asked quietly.

 

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” muttered Dwalin.  “Sit down, won’t you?”  And he pushed the elf into a chair and reached for two glasses and a bottle of dwarven beer.  “You’ve walked out on him so many times, but this time, he was convinced you were gone for good.  It was when he had been forging those beautiful gifts for you at night, and you thought he was carrying on with that young dwarf.”

 

Thranduil nodded slowly and guiltily.  “You nearly destroyed him, you know, and I put my arms around him and – well – things happened.  Just one night - never before and never afterwards – at a time when he needed a bit of love.  Can’t you understand that?”

 

The elven king nodded his head again.  Perhaps he could.

 

“And,” persevered Dwalin, “I’d like you to remember how many times I intervened to save your relationship.  Not exactly the acts of someone trying to stick a spoke in the works.”  And Thranduil did think about it and remembered the occasions when Dwalin had been as big a friend to him as he was to Thorin.

 

He drained his glass.  “What shall I do?” he asked.

 

Dwalin sighed: “You go and apologise to him again, I suppose,” he said.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil found Thorin back in his apartment.  The dwarf opened the door and silently let him into the room.  Then the elf apologised to him very humbly and Thorin took him in his arms and gently kissed him.

 

Later, they lay on the bed whilst Thranduil covered his bruised face and side with kisses.  “I hardly remember doing this,” he said, “I was enveloped in such a black cloud of jealousy.  Even when I saw your bruises in Mirkwood, it gave me some pleasure because I wanted you to suffer as I was suffering.  Can you ever forgive me?”

 

“Only if you promise never to do it again,” said Thorin with a half smile.

 

“But, that’s the trouble,” murmured Thranduil guiltily.  “I can’t promise.  It’s the only time I have ever hit you and I hope it’s the last.  But, I love you so much and my jealous rages are so intense, that I can’t predict what I might do should I become jealous again.  I can only promise to try.”

 

“That’s good enough for the moment,” said Thorin, running his hand through the elf’s silken hair.  “Now just stop talking, won’t you?”  And, for a while, there was silence in the room.

 

.o00o.

 

**Yet another jealous Thranduil story - perhaps it's time for a jealous Thorin, LOL!  I'll see what I can do.**

 

**And if you have been following these stories ever since I wrote _King of the Antlered Throne_ then I would like to thank you very much.  Your responses are what encourage me to write even more.  Have a Happy New Year!**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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